Just Harriet
by CountessButternut
Summary: Snape went to Lily about the prophecy, not Dumbledore. It concerned her family, after all. Fem!Harry.
1. Prologue

**AnnabethLuna: I have no shame. I HAVE DESTROYED CANON, regardless of the OC-ness of characters and all that jazz. MUAHAHAHAHA. (This is for you, though you are certainly not obligated to read it. Just have that knowledge.)**

**Also, don't own any of this, blah, blah, blah. **

* * *

"Why should I trust you, Severus?"

The storm was swirling around her, tossing her dark auburn hair viciously. Every now and then, a distant lightning strike would illuminate her young face, already aged with worry and pain. Her eyes, however, were as fierce as ever-a vibrant bottle-green. He knelt before her, wandless, trembling.

"You shouldn't," he choked out, head bowed. "Please, Lily..."

"A prophecy," she hissed, but he couldn't tell if she was still skeptical. "Why bother telling me? Why, when you've already chosen your side, and I mine?"

"Because," and now the words were burning in his throat, "because I - I - "

But he swallowed and shuddered, eyes clamped shut, his stringy, black hair whipping about, concealing his face.

"Because you what?"

He jerked his face up, startled by the sudden closeness of her voice. She had knelt in front of him, her features still stern, but she was much more the Lily he remembered from childhood.

"Because I love you."

She stared at him for a while, her expression unreadable. There was no pity in her face, no understanding, no shock, _nothing -_- and for what seemed a century, there was silence, and his heart stopped.

"If you defect, your Dark Lord will kill you," she said solemnly. He almost couldn't hear her over the roar of the wind. "You will have gained nothing by telling me this. I can offer you nothing in return."

"Just - please - hide, keep yourself - your whole family - _safe_," he pleaded. "I'm begging you - I'm telling the truth - "

"I know," she cut him off, looking away. "But - Sev - " the renewed use of his nickname caused him to desperately seek her gaze again, "Dumbledore heard the prophecy, too, didn't he? Then why hasn't he told us?"

"It - it could refer to someone else," he admitted, "but he is certain it is your daughter. He chose your daughter - he chose her as his equal."

Her eyebrows furrowed, but all of her seemed to soften.

"Please listen to me, Lily."

"I am," she said finally. "I just...I wish we weren't in this mess."

* * *

"The Longbottoms went into hiding," she said, taking her usual spot at the end of the couch. Severus poured her a glass of wine, and then took his space in the lumpy green armchair across from her. "Dumbledore wouldn't say anything directly, but I am fairly certain the reason is for their son."

Severus sighed. "Then I would say Dumbledore is mistaken. That is no reason to come out of hiding."

"I wasn't implying we were, as much as I would like to," she muttered darkly, glaring at a dingy corner. The light in the living room was poor as it was; she didn't understand how he could stand it. "But, I mean...Severus, is it possible that he's telling you the wrong thing because he already suspects you've been betraying him?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. He trusts me."

"Then he is a foolish man," she growled, taking another sip. "Or I am. Either way."

"Perhaps." He raised his glass to her, and she glared back.

"This is madness. I just want this all to be over."

"That reminds me," he said, sitting up slightly, "you're supposed to be gathering information, aren't you?"

"What of it?"

"Lily, you forget so easily, I'm in his Inner Circle." She raised an eyebrow. "I could be your spy."

"Sev! That'd be so dangerous! You know how I am about these things - I'm terrible about lying - what if I accidentally gave you away - ?"

"I have nothing else, Lily," he said coldly, staring into the bottom of his glass. "I chose the wrong side. If this war ends, the best I can hope for is Azkaban. No, I'm serious, Lily," he cut across her as she started to squirm and protest, "I am at your disposal. I'll do anything."

"...Anything?"

"Anything for you."

Lily stared at him, her mouth parted and her eyes wide, sinking back into the couch. "Sev, I can't give you anything in return." Her voice sounded fragile, like seashells.

"I don't want anything in return, I've told you this."

"...It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, if you haven't noticed." Lily blushed at those words, looking sullenly into her lap. "I'll tell you what you can afford to know, and you will present it to the Order in a believable fashion, understand?"

She nodded glumly, and when she looked up at him, he was startled to find that she had tears collecting in her eyes. She wiped them away forcefully, as if he hadn't had time to notice. "Lily, please..."

"First of all, I want you to promise me something." Her voice had come back stronger, echoing her usual, stubborn-self. "Promise me you'll survive this war and you're _not _going to Azkaban."

"Lily - "

"_Promise me_."

He opened and closed his mouth several times, letting out a few incoherent noises, but finally decided protesting was useless. "I promise," he replied heavily. Lily offered him half of a smile.

"And there's another thing, something that, maybe, you might not be able to do much about...but...if James and I don't make it..."

"Don't say that..."

"C-can you make sure that my daughter is safe? Please." The tears were starting to return, and they were beginning to frighten Severus more than he wanted to admit.

"I will do everything I possibly can to ensure your daughter's survival and well-being," he said, raising his right hand as he said so. Lily grinned the rest of the way, satisfied.

* * *

Lily looked more flustered than usual; she had dark circles under her eyes, and her left hand was shaking.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he demanded.

"Nothing, it's just - " She cut herself off, trying to steady her breathing. "Frank is dead...Alice barely escaped, and she brought Neville over...we've added more protections, I promise. We have a Secret Keeper now." She tried to smile, but even the spark in her eyes had dulled. "Sev, I haven't told anyone."

"Told anyone what?"

He assumed she hadn't told anyone that she was meeting him; that would be an utterly daft move on her part.

"I haven't told James about the prophecy," she whispered, looking down at her feet. "I wonder, sometimes...should I?"

He froze up in front of her. "...It's not my place to say."

"I don't know what to do. It feels so wrong...wanting it to be Alice's boy...but then, I think, isn't that so cruel? So wrong? I'm such a terrible person!" she cried out, compulsively falling into Severus's arms. "Sometimes I feel like I would do anything to keep Harriet safe, but how can I wish it on my friend, a friend who has just lost her husband?"

Severus patted her awkwardly. He was thankful - and disappointed - when she finally broke away. "Oh, I'm sorry, Sev."

"Don't mind it," he said stiffly. There was a brief pause in which there was only the sound of Lily's sniffing. "You're not a terrible person, you know that."

"It feels like it sometimes."

"You want the best for your child. That is a lot more than many other witches and wizards could say."

They lingered in the kitchen a moment longer. Lily still had not shed her traveling cloak; in fact, she showed no intention of seating herself in the living room.

"Sev," she said carefully, "I might not see you for a while. Alice...well, she's devastated. That, and James has been wondering loudly as to where I've been..." She breathed. "I came because - because I wanted to know something."

"Anything," he said automatically, watching her carefully.

"Did you mean it?" she asked, her voice small, almost afraid. He frowned.

"Mean what?"

"What you said - when I asked you why. The night you told me about...about Harriet."

Her eyes were searching his, but he couldn't tell if it was hope or sorrow that connected with him.

She was nine and fifteen and now twenty-one all at once. She was the most beautiful woman, his kindest friend, and the warmest heart he had ever known. He just wanted to see her smile again-her whole being ignite with the brightness of the sun. She would never be his, that much was certain, and though it killed him, every waking moment-though it destroyed him, it was some sort of sick redemption -

He could never regret _her_, the best thing in his miserable life -

His purpose, _his hope -_-

"Of course I meant it," he said, trying not to stutter around the words. "Always."

* * *

His world had already stopped, but for some reason, it had started moving and stopped again.

The little girl in the crib - he had never met her before, yet he knew precisely who she was - what the mark on her head meant -

The little boy was fussing. She had already started, crying for her mother, seemingly oblivious to the dark young man in front of her.

He felt all feeling leave him. It wasn't really him doing it, he told himself later, when he raised his wand to the little boy's head -

When he marked _him_ instead, the same lightning bolt -

The boy wailed, clutching the new mark on his head. Something twisted, agonized, in his stomach; how could he do this to a _child?_

How could _anyone?_

He was a terrible, _terrible _person - and he heard her voice echoing in his head-but maybe he didn't, though, because he couldn't feel anything at the same time as - as feeling _everything -_-

The girl's mark - _the real mark_, a voice inside his head growled-wouldn't go away. It was there forever.

So he covered it. He hid it.

He did what, he hoped, Lily would have wanted him to do - if she couldn't do it herself -

Even if it wasn't so right after all -

Even if it meant practically _nothing, _considering the Dark Lord had vanished -

Because, she had just wanted to protect her daughter, right?

Maybe there was nothing that could be right anymore.

There was a loud _POP _outside. He hadn't processed it at first, but then it was joined by the rumble of - _something -_- Muggle-like.

Voices - frightened, pained - _familiar -_

He remembered the first promise. Glancing at the fussing infants and the destruction around him, he found he was useless. He had to flee.

And so it was, that on Halloween night of 1981, Severus Snape managed to fool the entire Wizarding World for a great number of years -

And all for a woman who could never love him back, not how _he _had loved _her -_

For a woman lying dead on her nursery floor -

For the orphaned little girl that sat bawling in her crib, a mop of black hair on her head, and the all-too-familiar green eyes that, it seemed, could never be extinguished -

_For love._

For all the uncertain reasons, which, even from the beginning, had never made much sense.


	2. Chapter One: Shopping with Snape

"They did not die in a car crash," Snape growled, glaring at Harriet like it was her fault her relatives had lied. "They were murdered by the Dark Lord."

Harriet felt her cheeks color, but this time, she looked up to the dark man defiantly. "That's not what my aunt said."

"Your aunt is incompetent, and could never begin to understand the complexities of the magical world. She is hardly a reliable source on the topic."

"Fine," Harriet huffed, but quickly added, "sir." She watched out of the corner of her eye as Snape's black eyes darted around the pub suspiciously, leaning back slightly in his chair to have a better view. She thought he looked rather like a vampire, what with his black, billowy robes, his sallow face, hooked nose, and greasy, lank hair. He looked dead, or sick, or both. Either way, everything seemed to make him angry.

Harriet wasn't nearly so scary. Snape had called her a "pathetic little waif," whatever that was. She had a gut feeling it had to do with her small size, her spindly limbs, and her skinny frame. She had a pale, narrow face and messy, black hair that ran to her shoulders. Her glasses were what made her look pathetic, she supposed, mostly because the round frames were a bit big for her face and magnified her green eyes.

She stooped over, taking another large bite of her burger. Just as she had done it, Snape was snarling, looking at her with disgust.

"Don't slouch and stop inhaling your food," he hissed. Harriet almost considered glaring back at him and chewing with her mouth open, but another good look at him, and she easily changed her mind.

Perhaps Snape wasn't very nice, but he didn't hold Aunt Petunia's rule of "don't ask questions." Harriet swallowed, and waited for him to pay attention to her again.

"What's the Dark Lord?" she asked. "Sir?"

"An insane wizard who went around murdering people some ten years ago." He looked very tired of answering her incessant questions; he checked a watch, and if it was possible, his scowl deepened. "We still have to get your robes and your wand."

"Sir?"

"Finish," he ordered, his eyes darting around the pub again. Harriet took a few more bites before speaking again.

"Sir, why did he kill my parents?"

Snape pinched the bridge of nose as if he felt a headache coming on. He took a long time to answer, and finally looked at Harriet with something that wasn't resentment or irritation.

"They were in his way."

* * *

Some time later, Snape led her out of the pub and back into Diagon Alley. It was considerably less busy, but still fascinated Harriet to a great extent. She had yet to get used to all the wizards and witches strolling about in cloaks and Victorian-looking clothes, carrying around cauldrons and wands and owls. The group in front of the broomstick window was gone. She tried to go over to look, but Snape pulled her back forcefully.

"First years aren't allowed broomsticks," he said in his usual nasty manner. She huffed.

"Sir," she said, peering at the shop with the broomstick window, and a flier pinned to the door, "What's Quidditch?"

"A sport played on broomsticks."

"Oh." She noticed that he was leading her toward a place called Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. They were walking there at the same time as a blonde family with a boy who looked vaguely her own age. He had a pointed face and was dressed quite nicely, actually, and had a smug look about him.

The man, likely his father, halted his wife and son as he caught sight of Snape and Harriet.

"Severus," he drawled, tapping his cane with his fingers. It was very ornate and looked expensive. "Escorting...Muggleborns, are you?"

Harriet didn't like the way he looked at her, and unconsciously held herself up higher.

"Potter is no Muggleborn," Snape drawled back, nudging her forward. The man raised his pale brow with interest; the boy had narrowed his eyes, and was looking her up and down. Unlike the blonde family, Harriet wasn't dressed very well at all, even by Muggle standards. She was swimming in her cousin's hand-me-downs, all too big, patched up, and of the opposite gender.

"You're going to Hogwarts, too, then?" inquired the boy. He had grayish-blue eyes that were colder than her aunt's. "It's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He held out his hand. Harriet already didn't like him, but she figured it would be incredibly foolish not to take it. "Harriet Potter," she replied evenly.

"Why are you dressed up like a Muggle?" he asked. His mother cast him a warning look.

"Because I felt like it." Her face was burning with the lie, but she tried to only look angry with the question.

"Well, those aren't very good Muggle clothes," he told her. She regretted shaking his hand.

"_Draco_," his mother berated. He ignored her.

"Well, those aren't very good Wizard clothes," she shot back, which was far from the truth, but considering _he _was wearing them...

Malfoy looked astounded for a moment, and Harriet felt Snape's hand clasp around her shoulder. The adults exchanged a few brief words, and before she knew it, she had been dragged inside.

"Typical," he sneered. "Already making enemies...just like your arrogant father..."

"My father wasn't arrogant! Besides, _he _started it - "

But then, Malfoy entered the shop, his father's right hand rested protectively on his shoulder. He glared at her, and Harriet glared back. His father was looking at her like she was some sort of insect not worth his time.

"Hogwarts, dears?" A short, oblivious-looking witch all in mauve had appeared, and addressed Malfoy and Harriet. "Come right this way!"

They were led to the back and told to each step up on a stool. A witch draped long robes over their heads and then started to pin them. In the front of the shop, Harriet could hear Snape's quiet, silky voice conversing calmly with Mr. Malfoy.

"Are you poor?" Malfoy asked suddenly.

"No," she muttered snappishly. "I don't flaunt my wealth. I'm not arrogant," she added spitefully.

He scowled. "Why are you with Professor Snape, then?"

"My aunt didn't want to take me."

"Why?"

"She hates magic." She hadn't really meant to tell him that, and was about to say something else, until she saw that most of the aggression had temporarily abandoned him.

"_Why?_"

"I don't know. _I _think it's brilliant."

They fell into an awkward silence for a while, until one of the two witches working announced that Malfoy was done. "Well...er...do you play Quidditch?"

He had hopped down from the footstool, but for whatever reason, seemed reluctant to leave.

"No."

"Do you have a broom?"

"First years aren't allowed brooms," she recited in what was decidedly an uppity, authoritative voice. Malfoy snickered.

"Then smuggle it in."

Harriet smiled grimly. "Isn't your father waiting for you?"

"You're all done, dear," Madam Malkin said before Malfoy could reply. Harriet hopped down, determined to get out of there. To her dismay, Malfoy walked with her. Another silence consumed them.

"I suppose I'll be taking Draco to look at the racing brooms," Mr. Malfoy announced smoothly, stepping beside his son again, leaning on his cane. "Good day, Severus."

Snape nodded curtly, and Mr. Malfoy guided his son to the door. At the last second, as he was about to step through the threshold, Malfoy turned around to look at Harriet.

"See you at Hogwarts, I suppose," he said, already back to his drawling manner.

"Yeah, at Hogwarts," Harriet said, though she meant to say _Good Riddance_. When the door shut, she turned quickly to Snape. "I'm glad he's gone. Sir."

He cuffed her lightly over the head, muttering more about her father and arrogant fools.

* * *

"So, what am I, then?" Snape looked at her pointedly. "Sir?"

"Halfblood," he answered.

"Does it matter?"

"No," he said, but seemed to think for a moment. "It depends who you are asking."

"Well, I don't think it should matter," Harriet said mostly to herself. Snape made a noncommittal noise beside her, his robes swirling at his heels. They were heading toward the last shop called Ollivanders, where she was supposed to get her wand. It was very dingy and dark, and as soon as they stepped in, Harriet lost all desire to ask questions.

"Good afternoon."

Harriet jumped in alarm while Snape _tsked _beside her. An old man had appeared, his eyes so bright and pale they seemed to glow in the gloom of the room.

"Hello," she said, somewhat embarrassed. He peered at her, directly into her eyes.

"Ah, yes, I know who you are," he mused. "You have _exactly _your mother's eyes...and now that I look at the rest of you...a _remarkable _resemblance to your father. Harriet Potter, I presume."

"Er, yes. Sir."

"It seems only yesterday that I sold them their first wands," he went on. "Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, willow...that was your mother's. Very nice for charm work. Your father, on the other hand, had a wand a bit more powerful, excellent for transfiguration...eleven inches, pliable. _Mahogany_. Now, now, now...where to begin with you?"

He looked her over thoughtfully. Little tape measures had started to measure every inch of her, put he pulled out another from his pocket and instructed her to hold out her dominant arm.

After he pitched her his advertising spiel about the uniqueness of every wand made, he began pulling out wands for her to try.

But...every wand she tried, he quickly took away. Snape, glowering in the corner, was impatient.

"We are on a schedule, you know - "

"Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here, somewhere," Mr. Ollivander said happily. "I wonder, hmm, no one else has - but perhaps - oh, why not? It can't hurt!"

He tottered off to the back and came back with a very dusty box. He pulled out a rather handsome wand, handing it carefully to her. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

As soon as Harriet took the wand, she felt something warm in her fingers. Excited that _something _was happening, she raised swished the wand randomly above her head, and a stream of red and gold sparks showered onto the floor.

"Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well...how curious...how very curious..."

As he was wrapping up Harriet's new wand in its box, Snape strode over to the counter, his lip curled in frustration.

"What, pray tell, is _curious_?" Harriet wondered if they were actually on a schedule, then, or if Snape was just sick of toting her around. Most likely it was the latter.

Harriet watched carefully as Mr. Ollivander looked up at him coolly, clearly not intimidated. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Professor Snape," he said softly. "_Every single wand_. And it just so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather in this wand," he tapped the box, "gave only one other feather. And how curious it is, indeed, Professor Snape, that the other feather went to a wand I sold a very long time ago, to a boy called Tom Riddle."

Harriet hadn't the faintest clue as to who Tom Riddle was, but she was amused by the way his face drained and he suddenly stepped back. Mr. Ollivander, in turn, smiled eerily at Harriet.

"This is a very powerful wand, Miss Potter," he said, sending shivers down her spine. "We should expect great things from you...very, very great things..."

As they left the shop, Harriet admired her new wand.

"Don't let that wand go to your head, Potter," Snape said, quickening his pace.

"Sir?"

"_Not now_, Potter."

"But sir," she persisted as they came to the brick wall at the end of the street, "is it true? What he said?"

"Your wand will only ever be as powerful as you, which is to say," he muttered, "not very much."

"Not that," she blushed, "I meant about my parents. What they looked like. _Sir._"

Snape stopped abruptly once they had passed through the Leaky Cauldron, and looked down at her, his expression blank.

"Yes," he said dully. And they stalked off, loaded with all her new school supplies, toward the train station.

She was out of questions for the day.


	3. Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Express

Chapter Two: The Hogwarts Express

* * *

"Potter!"

Harriet spun around, finding the source of her surname. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed, but sure enough, Malfoy had broken away from his parents and was pushing past Muggles to get to her.

He was smartly dressed, looking every bit as haughty as she had remembered from the robe shop.

"Malfoy," she returned neutrally. "Where are your school things?" He smirked, gesturing behind him. Harriet peered around and saw that Mrs. Malfoy was pushing his trunk, talking comfortably to his father.

"And where are your...guardians?" he asked, making a point to look around her. Harriet could only guess that he was looking for Snape.

"They dropped me off," she said, trying to appear as unconcerned as possible. "They had more important things to do." _Like get the hell away from me._

"Well, I suppose, they _are _Muggles, aren't they?" Malfoy said, his hands in his pockets. Harriet thought frantically to how he knew that, wondering if she _had _told him after all, and found that her gaze lingered suspiciously on the nearing figure of Mr. Malfoy. "I can't imagine how dull it must be to grow up with Muggles. What do you _do_, anyway? I suppose it's all good, in the end, that they aren't here with you; they don't belong in _our _world. Shame, really. The Potters were quite prominent in their day, and here you are, in Muggle rags."

"I'd shut up if I were you, Malfoy," she hissed warningly, her hands bunching up into fists. He looked alarmed for a moment before he gathered himself again, his eyes glinting.

"Or what, Potter?"

She didn't get to answer, however, because his parents arrived at his side, and she still had no idea how to get onto the platform.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she greeted the adults, hoping she looked pleasant and presentable. Mr. Malfoy was still regarding her like she was too far below him to be noticed, but Mrs. Malfoy's eyes flickered from her son back to Harriet with interest.

"Harriet Potter," she said softly, thoughtfully. "Surely Severus told you how to get onto the platform?"

She was benign enough that Harriet chose not the lie, but the presence of her husband and son drove Harriet to blush furiously, crumpling the ticket further in her hand. She shook her head discreetly, eyes averted to the ground. Mrs. Malfoy sighed.

"No matter, no matter," she murmured. "Just go through the wall between Nine and Ten. You'll pass right through. Draco, why don't you walk through with her?"

"Of course, Mother," he agreed, puffing out his chest slightly. He took over his cart, and lined up with Harriet. "It's _easy_," he told her, but when he looked at the brick wall, Harriet was satisfied a trace of fear was betrayed on his face.

"You aren't scared of a stupid wall, are you?" she taunted him as they came nearer. Malfoy scowled, but his pace hastened. In a matter of seconds, they were running at the barrier.

Naturally, Harriet was not very settled with it at all. She felt herself tense and close her eyes seconds before they made impact, holding her breath, just waiting -

Except -

"We made it through," Malfoy exclaimed just as Harriet opened her eyes. Her eyebrows disappeared behind her bangs as she looked at him.

"What? You didn't think we would?"

"Of course I _knew _we would."

Harriet looked around. The platform was bustling with students and their parents. They hovered about in Muggle and Wizard clothes alike, lifting trunks and animal cages onto a gloriously red train. Steam spewed from the engine, concealing most of the crowd. The noise seemed to come from nowhere, and people stepped out of the mist who could have easily just appeared out of thin air.

Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy arrived behind them. Without a word, they led the way for the two eleven-year-olds to one of the passenger cars where dwelled two bulkish boys with sour faces. Their parents had similar brutish builds, except for a black-haired witch with a rather terrible overbite.

"Crabbe, Goyle," Malfoy said to the boys, who turned around like stunned animals. "This is Potter. She'll be sitting with us. Potter, this is Crabbe and Goyle."

"How do you do?" she said, trying to mask her disdain. No one offered a hand, and for that, Harriet was grateful. Instead, the boys looked at her blankly, and then to Malfoy.

It occurred to her, perhaps too late, that she did _not _want to sit with Malfoy, and especially his new company. But looking around, she didn't know who else would actually want to sit with her. Resigned, she watched with veiled interest as Mr. Malfoy drew a wand from his cane, muttering something inaudible under his breath, and his son's trunk floated delicately onto the train.

He then took care of Crabbe's things, and then Goyle's. Mrs. Malfoy was distracted, talking to the black-haired witch, while her son discussed the highlights of some Quidditch game to his dumb companions.

Mr. Malfoy hadn't bothered with her trunk at all.

She watched as more families flooded onto the platform. A woman with flaming red hair, her daughter, and four sons seemed to create quite a fuss around them. Harriet caught Mr. Malfoy observing them darkly before they disappeared behind the steam.

"_Mother!_"

Harriet barely registered that Mrs. Malfoy had pulled her son into a tight embrace, and kissed his forehead affectionately. "I know you'll do wonderfully," she said, her eyes sparkling. She kissed him again, and Malfoy's cheeks were tinged with pink. "Write tonight, after you've been Sorted."

Mr. Malfoy was far less fussy about his whole leaving, and instead drew him off to the side, speaking to him in low tones. Mrs. Malfoy took this opportunity to realize that Harriet was still loitering in front of the train with her trunk; Crabbe and Goyle had already disappeared.

"I apologize for my husband," she said, her voice touched with something grim. She whipped out her wand, and Harriet watched as her trunk floated up, onto the train. "But a word, if you don't mind, Miss Potter?"

Harriet nodded silently. Mrs. Malfoy lowered herself slightly so that her face was inches from her own. Her eyes were just like her son's, except more radiant and fierce. Harriet found that she feared the beautiful woman more than she thought anything else of her family.

"What do you know of the war?" she asked quietly, never letting her gaze wander from Harriet's eyes.

"Which war?"

Mrs. Malfoy sucked in a breath suddenly, and slowly exhaled. "Never you mind, then. You'll learn in time." She still searched Harriet's eyes, and it was making the girl feel uneasy. "But I must confess something to you, Miss Potter."

Harriet waited.

"My loyalties are to the well-being of my son. Do you understand me?" Harriet nodded mutely, and Mrs. Malfoy relaxed. "Then you must understand the consequences of..."

But she was suddenly distracted; Malfoy had reappeared, and dutifully allowed his mother to coddle him again. Harriet scrambled onto the train while she had the chance, avoiding Mr. Malfoy's glare.

As the whistle blew, Malfoy hurried up beside her, waving sheepishly back to his mother, who was blowing kisses in his direction. His father had wrapped a protective arm around her waist, and all in all, the boy looked rather embarrassed.

On a certain level, Harriet understood Malfoy's reaction. On another, she found that something in the depths of her was dreadfully empty, and that Malfoy was a selfish git.

* * *

Harriet had no sooner settled into the compartment she shared with the three boys than she was drawn out of it on a quest.

"The Boy-Who-Lived, don't you know?" Malfoy was gawking at her. "He's the only person who's ever survived the Killing Curse. Come on! The Dark Lord couldn't kill him? The lightning-scar? No? Wow, you're ignorant."

"Wow, you're rude," Harriet muttered, but Malfoy pretended not to hear her.

They went from compartment to compartment, inquiring about this _Boy-Who-Lived_, getting students young and old riled up about the idea. Most of the time, though, Malfoy said something mean, but just as someone looked like they were going to confront them, they caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle.

As they went along, Harriet acquired a decent amount of useful information. For one, there were four Houses at Hogwarts to which students belonged. One of them was Slytherin, Malfoy's goal, and was apparently either the worst House or the best one, depending on who you asked. There was also Hufflepuff, for all the "leftovers," and Ravenclaw which passed as "acceptable." Harriet didn't know what the fourth was. Each House had a Quidditch team, and on each team, there was a position called Keeper. Also, the Dark Lord was also called You-Know-Who, but she still didn't know what his actual name was. Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster and also one of the most powerful wizards alive. There was a giant squid in the lake on the school grounds, dragons were illegal to keep as pets, and, _no_, they had _no idea _that the Boy-Who-Lived was even on the train.

"Why do you even care?" Harriet asked as they were nearing the end of the train. "If he's famous, he's probably sick of people trying to get a good look at him."

"Because," Malfoy said, licking his lips, "it's the _Boy-Who-Lived_. Imagine having him as an ally! We can't let him be friends with - with - with someone like Weasley, can we?"

He looked at Harriet imploringly as she rolled her eyes. Weasley had been a gangly, freckled kid their age, and the youngest son of the redheaded witch she had noticed on the platform. He'd been sitting with two other boys, and after a heated exchange, Harriet was thankful they were able to get out of the compartment without a fight.

The Weasleys, according to Malfoy, were dirt-poor, dishonorable "Bloodtraitors," whatever that meant. It would be a stupid idea to associate with them.

It was a stupid idea to associate with _Malfoy, _but never mind that.

She watched, bored, as Malfoy thrust open the next compartment to reveal a girl with bushy, brown hair and buckteeth sitting next to a tearful-looking boy with a round face. He was startled by their arrival, but the girl was still speaking to him soothingly. "Don't worry; we'll find him." She turned to the visitors, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She was, bless her, already in her school uniform. "May I help you?"

Malfoy's gaze lingered on the boy and froze somewhere toward the top of his face. "It's true then," he said, smirking. "They're saying all down the train that Neville Longbottom is in this compartment. So it's you, then?"

The girl beside the supposed Boy-Who-Lived looked irritated, but said nothing.

"Yes," mumbled the boy abashedly. Malfoy took it as his cue to sweep in, tugging discreetly at Harriet's sleeve for her to follow suit. Crabbe and Goyle, however, loitered in the threshold like stone pillars.

"This is Potter," he said, nodding toward Harriet, who folded her arms crossly across her chest, "and Crabbe, and Goyle. My name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"I'm Hermione Granger," the girl said, straightening up while Neville Longbottom tried to shrink back into his seat. Malfoy looked her over, frowning slightly.

"Granger? I've never heard of any Grangers."

"That's because I'm Muggleborn," she quipped, raising her chin. "The first in my family."

"That's not something to be proud of around here, I'm afraid," Malfoy sneered. "The less Muggle blood, the better."

Harriet elbowed him sharply, her eyes flashing. He glared back at her. "What?"

"Would it kill you to be nice for once?"

"Being nice didn't get anyone very far," Malfoy countered. "Besides, I'm only telling her the truth." He turned his attentions back to Neville Longbottom, who suddenly didn't look very tearful at all. "You don't need to keep the company of Muggleborns all day, Longbottom. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

Malfoy held out his hand, and Longbottom did something that Harriet wished she would have done: he left it hanging there.

"I think I know the wrong sort by myself," he said thickly.

"I would leave, if I were you," Granger added coldly. "He _is _the Boy-Who-Lived, after all."

"C'mon, Malfoy, let's go," Harriet hissed anxiously to the blonde boy. She pulled at his arm, but he wouldn't budge.

"You'll regret this, Longbottom," he growled. "If you don't watch it, you'll meet the same end as your parents."

The temperature in the compartment plummeted, and for an immeasurable amount of time, no one moved. At last, Malfoy himself broke the spell, and with one last look of contempt, swept out of the compartment, forcing Crabbe and Goyle to stumble into the hall. The door slammed shut behind them, and as soon as it had, he turned on Harriet, livid.

"What the hell was _that _for?"

"What are you yelling at _me_ for? It's your own bloody fault. If you'd been _nicer _- "

"You just don't get it, do you?" he cut her off. "Look, Potter: I don't know what you learned in the Muggle world, but the Wizarding world is not like it." He closed his eyes and sighed. "You can't be soft, Father says. You won't make it if you don't fight for it. Everyone will walk all over you if they get the chance, so never give it to them. That means choosing the right allies. That means...well, I thought it meant Longbottom." His expression hardened, and he brushed past Harriet, muttering under his breath.

She stood there, paralyzed, while Crabbe and Goyle took off dutifully behind their leader, looking like a pair of bodyguards. She glanced back at the compartment door, listening to the muffled voices of Granger and Longbottom.

"I'm not soft," she said to herself, looking down at her shoes. They were old and worn, the left sole slowly coming undone.

She wanted to do the right thing, whatever that was. But she also didn't want people to walk all over her, like Malfoy said, and tell her mean things about her father, like Snape, and lock her up in a cupboard for ten years, like her aunt.

She was a witch, _dammit_. And even Ollivander had hinted that she was going to be a great one.

And great people weren't soft, were they?

She looked doubtfully to the compartment door. It was closed.

_The door was closed_.

Years and years later, she would understand just what it meant when she turned her back to the door and started down the corridor in silence, unhurried, but determined.

She would know what it meant when she flung open another door, a door hiding a blonde wizard and his two cronies. She would know what it meant when she sat next to Malfoy, still bitter, but returning half a broken smile.

But for the time being, she was only thankful that they were rushing toward a world that was different from the one she'd left behind.


	4. Chapter Three: The Sorting

Chapter Three: The Sorting

* * *

"GRYFFINDOR!"

It was like an explosion had gone off at the far left table. Poor Longbottom didn't seem to notice, forever, and very nearly ran off with the Sorting Hat still on his head. Quite a few students were actually standing, and a pair of redheaded twins - likely the same ones that had been with Weasley and his mother on the platform - were bellowing "_We got Longbottom!_" over the din.

Professor McGonagall, a rather intimidating-looking witch reading a scroll of names, waited until most of the ruckus had died until she called someone called Morag. Her mouth was twitching like she was trying not to grin.

Malfoy elbowed her for about the hundredth time. "Remember, go for Slytherin, if you can."

He smiled at her then, a real, genuine smile, but it was just as easily her imagination. He was called and swaggered up to the chair a moment later; Harriet groaned.

The Hat had barely brushed the top of his head when it called out "SLYTHERIN," and casting one last glance at Harriet, he took his time to get to the table in the far right.

The Slytherin table was filled with students who more or less looked the same: smug, bored, and somewhat dangerous. According to the Hat's song, she would make her real friends there, but she wasn't sure if she could believe it. Surely, they were the most unpleasant lot out of the whole school.

The Hufflepuffs were next to them and were a sharp contrast. They looked the nicest, with the kindest faces. They were supposed to be loyal and patient; wouldn't they make better friends?

Considering that Harriet had never really _had _a friend before, she realized that maybe she wasn't the best person to go making conclusions about that sort of thing.

Ravenclaw - well, she knew she wasn't going to Ravenclaw. She wasn't an idiot, but it sounded like a House of kids who were just the opposite. She watched a few of them, and they held themselves high, but in a different respect than the Slytherin table.

Then there were the Gryffindors. They were the rowdiest, and supposedly, the bravest. Perhaps rash was a better word? They looked like lots of fun, plus they had Longbottom, a celebrity; they didn't seem that bad.

But did Harriet fit there at all?

Her aunt would probably think so. So would Snape, now that she thought about it.

She looked at the Slytherin table again. Malfoy seemed to think she would go there, or hoped so, at least. He was looking at her, and very discreetly, offered her a thumbs up. Was she cunning, though? Did she have what it took to survive a table of..._that?_

She wasn't feeling very brave, or loyal, or smart, or cunning at all. As a matter of fact, she felt a little sick as a new thought came to mind: what if she wasn't Sorted at all?

What if she didn't fit anywhere, and they sent her back to the Dursleys?

It wouldn't be that much of a surprise, she realized dully. She hadn't managed to be a normal person in the Muggle world. Her relatives had made a point of her freakishness, how unnatural she was. Some part of her had dared to hope that being a witch and coming into the Wizarding world would change that, but apparently, it didn't.

She didn't understand why the only person who bothered with her at all had to be a little jerk, and why, despite the fact he seemed determined to keep her around, he could only pick out all the differences between them, and point out what made him right, what made him _better_.

What type of person did that make Harriet?

She was so wrapped up in her worry that she almost didn't hear her name as McGonagall called her up: "Potter, Harriet."

The last thing she saw before the Hat dropped over her eyes was Weasley leaning over to whisper something to a black boy, glaring at her.

_What's this? Oh, quite interesting...very interesting indeed..._

A small voice had popped up beside her ear. Her fingers clasped around the stool, and she exhaled shakily.

_Not a bad mind at all...very brave, very clever...and what is __this? Talent, oh yes, lots of talent...and a nice thirst to prove yourself...a thirst to be, forgive me, _great_..._

_It's quite obvious, isn't it? I know the perfect place to put you, to help you on your way to greatness - without a doubt -_

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Hat was pulled off her head, and feeling rather dazed, she took off toward a seat that Malfoy seemed to be saving for her.

Crabbe and Goyle were already seated across from them, and grunted in recognition. An older student was on the other side of Malfoy, one with a heavy jaw and dark eyes that shrank back in his face. He held out his hand for her, albeit stiffly, and said, "Welcome to Slytherin, Potter. It's Marcus Flint. I'm captain of the Quidditch team."

"Nice to meet you," she said, her eyes falling to a special pin on his robes. "What position do you play?"

"Chaser."

That was a new one. She would keep that in mind - Keepers and Chasers - until someone explained it properly.

Meanwhile, the Sorting continued. Weasley and the boy he was talking to both went to Gryffindor; the last student, a boy named Blaise Zabini, joined them at the Slytherin table before the headmaster stood up. The whole hall grew quiet.

Albus Dumbledore had a long, silvery beard and wore purple robes. He looked ancient, but had sparkling blue eyes. It seemed that there was nothing more that could please him beyond seeing all of the students at their tables, some looking to their empty golden plates and goblets eagerly.

"Welcome!" Dumbledore said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

Harriet didn't know whether to laugh or not, but as her new Housemates were keeping a stony silence, she decided to clap quietly. She nudged Malfoy to ask him if Dumbledore was mad, but before she could say anything, heaps upon heaps of delicious-looking food appeared out of nowhere.

It wasn't that Harriet had been starved, exactly, but she certainly had never been allowed to eat however much she wanted. Enthusiastically, she filled her plate with a little of everything, shameless as she noted some of the students around her were trying to have manners.

"Pass the potatoes, would you?" she asked, about to bite into a plump chicken leg. Malfoy obliged.

"Hungry much?"

"Famished."

Crabbe and Goyle, however, stuffed themselves with no restraint. Around them, some of the other first years were discussing pompously their family life, but mostly, their bloodlines.

"Well, my great-great-grandfather founded the Cleansweeps," a girl called Parkinson was saying loudly. "And _he _was descended from Silvano Spiridon."

Harriet had no clue who Silvano Spiridon was, and she didn't care. Another girl, Greengrass, showed interest.

"Really? I think I'm related to him, too. Have you ever heard of Randall Spiridon? He wasn't as famous, but just as important in my opinion; he slew Olfy the Outrageous."

"Well, my father recently had the Minister of Magic over for dinner," Malfoy announced as he reached for the gravy. Parkinson's dark eyes glimmered, but Greengrass went back to her plate.

"Really?" Her eyes slid over to Harriet, but the latter tried to ignore her. "What about you, Potter? I know I've heard your name before."

"Well," she thought aloud, putting down her fork. She caught Malfoy's eye, and was half-tempted to make something up; it sounded like everyone else had been lying, anyway. In the end, though, she decided the truth was best.

"I have no idea. My parents were murdered when I was little."

Parkinson's eyes widened, and Greengrass actually looked up. "Oh. I'm sorry." She didn't sound very sorry at all, in Harriet's opinion, but she shrugged her shoulders anyway as if it were no big deal. "If your parents were dead, then, who raised you?"

"My aunt and uncle. What?" Malfoy was looking at her like he was trying to tell her something.

"...And she knows Professor Snape personally," he added after she said nothing, and immediately, about six pairs of eyes flickered up to the high table. Harriet nearly recoiled; she had forgotten that Snape would be there. He seemed to feel their gaze, but chose to single Harriet out, glaring at her.

"Er, yeah, you could say that," she mumbled.

"Oh, don't be modest, Harriet," Malfoy said with a great sweeping motion, his drawl creeping back. She wasn't sure she liked him using her first name. "He took her shopping in Diagon Alley. I ran into them when I went to get my robes."

"He _really _doesn't like me."

"Nonsense," he said dismissively. Greengrass was regarding her critically, but kept her silence.

Suddenly, Harriet's fork clattered on her plate and she gasped, her hand flying up to her forehead.

"Harriet?" Malfoy - _Draco _- asked worriedly.

She was more bewildered than anything; the pain had come just as swiftly as it had gone.

"N-nothing...It was nothing."

* * *

After Harriet and the other Slytherins had stuffed themselves into a stupor, a prefect led the first years to their dormitories.

The Slytherins dwelled in the dungeons, under the lake. Harriet tried to pay attention as to where they were going, but after a while, she couldn't help the fact that she was hopelessly lost. The dungeons seemed more of a labyrinth than the rest of the castle, not to mention they were drafty and dark.

"This is so cool," Draco said, and Harriet only agreed with a deflated hum.

At an expanse of blank, stone wall, the prefect abruptly stopped; Harriet nearly ran into Draco. The prefect turned to the wall and spoke to it: "Tete-a-tete!"

The first years watched closely as a hidden door revealed itself in the wall and slid open, revealing a lengthy, underground room. The stepped through, peering around as the wall sealed behind them.

The ceiling wasn't very high, and even though there was a beautiful fireplace aglow before them, Harriet didn't think it was very cozy, either. Greenish lamps hung from chains, and the furniture was done in lots of greens and blacks and grays. It was minimalist with a select few feature pieces. It was a place of negotiation, she decided, and while it was not necessarily sinister, it wasn't the epitome of welcoming, either.

The prefect directed the boys down one spur hallway from the common room, and the girls down another. Draco hastily bid her good-night before following Crabbe and Goyle, and promised to walk with her to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Hurrying after Greengrass, Harriet came to a windowless room with four-poster beds draped with luxurious, emerald curtains. Serpents were carved in the posts, and their trunks were already waiting for them.

Bulstrode, a girl with small eyes and broad shoulders, collapsed on her bed, and within moments, starting snoring into her pillow. Parkinson, on the other hand, took about an hour before she was ready to settle down, and even then, engaged Greengrass in another hour of mundane conversation.

Harriet listened for a while, her back to the other girls, but was mostly unconcerned. They discussed politics she did not understand while trying to up the other. Bulstrode's cat, a long-haired, scruffy black thing, clawed at Harriet's curtains until she swatted it away. It finally settled itself on Bulstrode's back, curled up, but it's yellow eyes never left the back of Harriet's head.

It was about midnight by the time Harriet managed to fall asleep. Greengrass and Parkinson had finally yawned out their good-nights to each other. She had a very strange dream, however, one that didn't have any of the girls in it. She and Draco were wandering, lost, through the dungeons until they found a cupboard door in the wall not unlike the one beneath the Dursleys' stairs. Naturally, they opened it. Snape emerged instantly, snarling, telling Harriet that there'd been a mistake and she had to go home. He then started laughing, a horrible, malevolent sound, and there was a flash of green light - it washed out everything, and Draco was screaming - no, a woman was screaming - and she woke up, trembling and sweating. She rolled over and went to sleep again.

When she woke up the next morning, Harriet couldn't remember the dream at all. However, she had quite the start anyway: the eyes of Bulstrode's cat were inches from her face.


End file.
